Snowball Fight, Snowball Flight
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: COMPLETE! The Darlings introduce Peter and the Lost Boys to the sport and “art” of snowball fights.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: _Peter Pan_, all characters, places, and related terms belong to J.M. Barrie. The plot is mine.

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Snowball Fight, Snowball Flight

Chapter One

It is unusually quiet in the house under the ground. Supper has long been over. The boys play marbles in one corner. Peter lounges on his bed, lazily tracing patterns on the wall with one finger. Wendy slowly rocks herself in her rocking chair, her eyes half closed.

"It has started snowing," Tootles says softly, stepping into the house from his tree, and makes his way to his comrades.

"Does it snow a lot here in Neverland?" John asks.

Tootles shrugs, uncertain.

Michael beams with delight. "I hope there will be a lot of snow to play in tomorrow!" he exclaims.

The Lost Boys all look at him with puzzlement. "You play in snow?" Curly asks wonderingly.

"Of course!" Michael says, returning the others' amazed stare. "Don't you?" he asks them.

"How do you play with snow?" says Slightly. "It's wet and cold; makes our feet freeze. The only thing you can do with it is trample through it. What fun is that?"

Michael and John gaze at their friends, their mouths wide open. John gathers his wits first. "Why, there are many ways to play in the snow! You can make snow angels, build snowmen, create a fortress, have a snowball fight… We have a jolly time playing in the snow," he answers.

The Lost Boys' eyes sparkle, awed by this revelation.

"Can you truly do those things in the snow?" Nibs questions.

"Yes, if there is enough snow. You need lots and lots and lots of snow to make a fort," Michael explains.

A rosy glow lights the boys' faces, delight and excitement bubbling up inside their chests. "Ooooh!" they breathe in one voice. "How fun!"

"Will you play with us in the snow, Father, Mother?" one of the twins asks.

"I do not think so," Wendy replies, looking at the boys' hopeful faces. "There is a lot of work I want to do tomorrow, and I doubt I shall have time to go outside."

The boys all immediately try to convince her she can spare a few minutes playing in the snow and still get most, if not all, her work done. She remains uncertain when Peter, who has been listening and watching everything with deep interest, finally speaks:

"The boys and I would be mighty pleased if you come out and play at least a little while with us. You can help teach the lads some games. It will not be the same if you do not come," he ends.

Wendy's gaze moves between the boys and Peter, all waiting with anticipation-filled faces for her decision. She sighs.

"If it will truly please you, Father, and the boys, I will come."

The boys cheer and hug her, thanking her from the bottom of their hearts.

"But you all must wear your bearskin coats, shirts, pants, scarves, and mittens so you don't catch your death of cold," Wendy states her one condition firmly.

"And _you_ shall wear your bearskin coat," Peter says over the boys' affirming to meet Mother's order. "It would not do for you to catch cold."

Wendy meets his serious eyes, simply nods, and blushes a little. Tearing her gaze from Peter's, she jumps to her feet and instructs the excited boys to get ready for bed. That night the house remains full of bubbling excitement.

* * *

The next afternoon, Wendy lays aside her work and comes above ground. For a long moment she stands still, awed by the lovely sight surrounding her. The Neverland has been transformed into a winter wonderland. Pure white snow blankets the ground and nestles on the bare tree branches. Joy fills the girl. She spins around once, laughter escaping her lips, and then takes off through the jungle.

When she finds the boys and Peter playing in a nearby clearing, she discovers them to be in the midst of a fierce snowball fight. As far as she can tell, there are no teams in this game -- only every boy for himself.

Suddenly feeling a bit mischievous, Wendy makes a snowball and uses the trees to shield her from sight as she creeps closer to the boys. Coming to a halt behind one large tree trunk, she watches the battle rage on before her. One by one she identifies the boys participating, their faces full of excitement and determination. Wendy is astonished as she realizes the boy standing a little ways before her, watching the others, is Peter. His fists are placed on his hips, and his head is tilted to one side. The girl cannot even begin to guess how he got himself out of playing and just being a bystander. Well, this will not do!

Swiftly Wendy runs out from her hiding place and, stopping a few feet from the unaware Peter, throws her snowball. It makes contact with the back of his head. The boy jumps and squeaks, his hand flying to his head to brush away the cold snow. Just as he turns around, another snowball hits him right in the face. As he wipes the snow away, he becomes aware of someone laughing nearby. When his vision clears, Peter's eyes light on Wendy nearly bent over laughing. For a moment he gapes at her. She hit him with the snowballs! She -- sweet, caring, innocent, little Wendy! He would have never guessed…

The third snowball plasters itself on his bearskin coat. Peter stares blankly at it for a moment. When he raises his head, Wendy has already taken off running, laughing still.

"_Wendy!_" he bellows, grinning, and gives chase.

She has a considerable lead on him as she zigzags across the clearing, occasionally looking over her shoulder to see how far behind he is. But Peter's longer legs steadily allow him to slowly catch up to her.

Lunging forward, he tackles Wendy, who shrieks in surprise. They roll around several times before coming to a halt, with both children lying in the snow, breathing heavily. After remaining motionless for several moments, Peter glances at the silent girl beside him, and a light frown covers his brow.

"Wendy, are you dead?" he asks.

The girl giggles, "Not yet."

"Good!" Peter sits up and leans over her. "Then I can still kill you," he says seriously.

Wendy's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Why will you do that?"

"For ambushing me with those three snowballs."

"I just thought that as the boys' father, you should take part in their playing. They did ask you last night."

"A father does not take part in snowball fights."

"Yet he may attack the boys' mother? What a gentleman!" Wendy laughs.

Peter gives her a mock stern look. "You deserved it."

"Indeed." Lifting one brow, she brushes some snow off the boy's forehead. "And how shall you kill me?" A smile tugs on the corners of her mouth.

The boy is silent, thinking. "I may hug you until all the air escapes from you. Or… You're cold." Peter frowns as he at last sees what he missed before. "You promised to wear your coat."

Wendy realizes she has indeed forgotten her coat and is starting to shiver from lying in the snow for so long. "I forgot," she murmurs softly. She looks up in time to see Peter lean back and climb to his feet. He removes his coat and holds it out to her. Wendy glances at it and then at Peter with incomprehension.

"Put this on so you won't catch cold," he says for explanation.

Wendy stands with some difficulty and thankfully puts the coat on, shivering again as she buttons it. "Thank you, Peter."

The boy nods once, an expression on his face she is unable to give a name to. Gently, he brushes some damp hair from her forehead. The two stare at each other, their hearts racing.

The spell is broken when the boys call to them to help them build a snowman. Turning her attention to the sky, Wendy realizes more time has passed than she expected.

"I should go and start supper," Wendy says, meeting Peter's eyes.

Disappointment fills his face. "The boys will be sorry you have to go. Can you not stay out just a little longer and help with the…snowman?" he asks.

Wendy wavers for a moment and then shakes her head. "No, I should start on the meal. But you will help the boys, won't you? For my sake?"

"If you wish it," Peter complies, nodding once, his face still downcast.

"Thank you." Wendy graces him with a smile. She reaches to undo the top button on the coat. Peter steps closer and places his hand on top of hers, his eyes already on her face when she looks up.

"Don't," he says softly. "You are a bit wet. Wear it so you do not get too cold walking back."

As though to confirm his words, a wind blows across the clearing, heralding of the cold evening that is fast approaching.

A frown of worry crosses Wendy's face. "But surely you will get cold…" She tries to unclasp the button, but Peter presses her hands, stopping their movement.

"I'll be fine," he assures her.

Wendy nods in acceptance and steps back. Peter's hand falls back to his side. His eyes remain locked with hers, unmindful of Nibs's approach. Wendy turns and starts back for the house, leaving Peter to help the boys. But her worry does not disappear, as she ponders on what had caused Peter to be so downcast, with no smile or twinkle in his eyes.

Shaking her head to clear away such worries for the time, she turns her thoughts to preparing a nice hot meal tonight for her boys.


	2. Chapter Two

Author's Note: I decided to write one last chapter for this fic. Thanks to everyone who inspired me to go with my original idea. Hope the ending is satisfying. :) And do not worry, ABOSASB when eventually be finished!

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Chapter Two

As Wendy takes a moment to catch her breath in her rushing about to prepare the meal, she realizes she is still wearing Peter's coat. Blushing furiously, she quickly removes it, hangs it over the back of a chair, and moves the chair closer to the fire to let the coat dry. The girl hugs herself and shivers, missing the warmth of the coat which had kept her toasty in the airy, still warming-up, house.

The kettle is hanging over the fire, the stew in it bubbling; and Wendy is pouring hot cocoa into cups when finally Peter and the boys return, chilled to the bone, their cheeks a rosy pink, and excitement dancing in their eyes.

Exclamations of "Hello, Mother!" fill the air.

"Hello, boys," she greets them cheerfully. Having finished pouring the cocoa, Wendy returns the teapot to the tiny table against the wall in the "kitchen" and comes to the boys who are speaking over each other, telling about the rest of their day.

"Is that cocoa?" Michael asks, the familiar smell tickling his nose. Then he notices the steaming cups on the tree stump table.

Wendy puts herself between the advancing boys and steaming drink. "First, give me your coats; then go change your clothes and wash up. After that, you may have your cocoa," she instructs.

In a moment she is laden down with eight damp, heavy bearskin coats. She hardly notices the boys rush off to do her bidding; instead, her eyes search for places to hang the coats so that they may dry. She attempts to hold them with one arm and hand and pick up the top one with the other hand, but discovers it is impossible to do so, as the coats threaten to fall to the dirt floor.

Peter materializes at her elbow. "Do you need help?" he asks quietly, unsure.

Wendy jumps, having forgotten about him. She meets his eyes and trembles slightly under his gaze. There is that light in his eyes again, that look he gave her before. She is aware of the sudden heaviness settling over them. For the moment she tries to shake it off.

"Yes, I'm afraid I do," she admits.

Peter stands in front of her and easily takes the coats from her. In a short time the coats are hanging on various roots and nooks; and Peter's coat, now dry, is put away.

"Thank you," Wendy says, unable to meet his eyes.

Peter nods solemnly, his face troubled.

"You should change out of your wet things; you might catch a chill," Wendy adds, noticing his soaked pants before she hurries to check on the stew. _Why_ can't she bring herself to face him?

"Don't worry; I'll be fine," Peter answers, peering over her shoulder as she stirs the soup.

Wendy gasps, unaware he had sneaked up on her and was so close. She glances up to discover his face turned toward her, his piercing eyes watching her. Her hands begin to shake. She turns away and stares intently into the steaming stew.

The boys return, and Wendy moves away from Peter, warning the boys to be careful not to spill their drinks as they sit down at the table. There are sighs of contentment as the boys enjoy their hot drinks. The girl smiles at them before realizing something is amiss.

Her smile disappears, and she fetches another cup which she fills with the last of the cocoa. Wendy shyly offers it to Peter.

The boy hesitates before accepting it. "Thank you, Wendy," he says graciously.

The two gaze at each other for a moment before Wendy turns away to check the stew one last time and announces supper is ready.

* * *

Wendy rests the pair of pants she is working on over one of the arms of her rocker, unable to concentrate. She watches Peter out of the corner of her eye. He sits on the ground, a foot or so away. His chin rests on his knees, and his arms are wrapped around his legs. He stares at the dancing flames of the fire, still silent as he has been since the meal. The girl sighs; she cannot let the day end with them on such terms.

Suddenly Peter turns his head and looks at Wendy, catching her staring at him. She blushes but does not turn away. Her gaze slips to his golden curls. Slowly she reaches out a hand and gently brushes them with her fingers, a soft smile lighting her face as she does so.

Peter's eyes widen, and his breath catches in his throat at the feel of her gentle combing of his hair with her fingers; he watches her for a moment before moving, causing her hand to fall away.

Wendy bites her lip and drops her gaze down to her lap, fearing her gesture has been rejected. Before she is allowed to wonder further, Peter settles himself before her feet and lays his head in her lap. A little uncertain, she resumes brushing his hair and sighs in relief as she feels him relax.

A companionable silence circles them as Wendy gathers her courage.

"The boys missed you," Peters speaks softly.

"And I missed playing with them," Wendy replies. "They seemed to have enjoyed themselves all the same," she adds after a pause, remembering the scene when they had returned.

"I didn't."

Wendy's hand grows still; Peter lifts his head and slightly turns his body to look at her.

"You didn't?" she asks in a near whisper.

The boy shakes his head. Wordlessly, he brushes some hair away from her face, his eyes soft. His other hand comes to rest over hers. Unconsciously, Wendy lowers her head, mesmerized by the silvery pools of Peter's eyes.

"Wendy…"

The word floats in the air between them before their lips meet for the first time. When Peter withdraws, the disappointment is gone from his face, his eyes shining, and Wendy smiles.

The boy returns his head to the girl's lap, their fingers laced together still. The unspoken trouble is resolved and forgotten. As they gaze once more into the fire, the flames leap about joyfully for the two reconciled children.

THE END


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